


The Thrill of Victory

by thesaddestboner



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Abrupt Ending, Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Fingering, Hand Jobs, Idiot manchildren, In Media Res, M/M, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, This Is STUPID, not quite established relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 17:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11318310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: José sidles up to McCann’s locker after the game, still buzzing on adrenaline after the win.





	The Thrill of Victory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blastellanos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/gifts).



> This is dedicated to [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/profile)[**blastellanos**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/) because she's an enabler. 
> 
> This is kinda plotless and dumb. It also ends kind of abruptly because I've been writing a lot of smut lately for something else and I ran out of steam. lmao.
> 
> Set after [this win](http://nullrefer.com/?http://m.mlb.com/video/topic/8879974/v1507307183/61617-castellanos-upton-lead-offense-in-win/) in which José [Did](http://nullrefer.com/?http://m.mlb.com/video/v1505659483/tbdet-iglesias-makes-a-smooth-charging-stop/) [This](http://nullrefer.com/?http://m.mlb.com/video/v1505417383/tbdet-iglesias-makes-an-impressive-basket-catch/).
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

José sidles up to McCann’s locker after the game, still buzzing on adrenaline after the win. It’s probably the best game he’s ever played, defensively—and he’s had a lot of Web Gems over the last few years—and he’s itching to celebrate. 

Why he’s picked McCann, of all people, to celebrate the victory with, José doesn’t know. McCann’s idea of fun is probably going to a rodeo or a monster truck show. He probably sits in the back of his pickup truck—José doesn’t know if he owns a pickup truck, but he seems like the type—with his dog and his girl and shotguns Miller Lites.

José wrinkles his nose in disgust at the thought. 

“Whaddaya need?” McCann’s drawling voice—with its mutt of an accent—interrupts José’s thoughts.

“I think we should celebrate,” José says, leaning against the wall. He grabs a scuffed baseball off the top shelf of McCann’s locker and flips it from hand to hand.

McCann reaches out for the ball but José snaps it out of his reach. “Celebrate?” He arches a judgmental eyebrow at José.

José shoves the baseball in his back pocket. “Beer, Xbox. Whatever.”

McCann snort-laughs and pulls a shirt off a plastic hanger. “Doesn’t exactly sound like my idea of fun.”

“You putting me on the spot, man,” José says, bouncing on his heels. “I still got a lotta energy in me. It needs to go somewhere.”

“And you think it needs to, what, go over here?” McCann sweeps a hand down his chest and lifts both his judgmental eyebrows at José.

“Miggy got his wife and kids in town, Víctor got his wife and kids in town—” José raises a hand and starts ticking off teammates he likes better than McCann, but McCann cuts him off and pushes his hand down.

“So I’m your third choice?” he asks, incredulously.

José shrugs. “Fourth, I woulda asked K-Rod but he—”

“You really need to work on your bedroom manners.” McCann rolls his eyes and turns his back on José, slipping his damp towel from around his waist and grabbing his boxers out of his stall. “So, why couldn’t _K-Rod_ make it to this little man-date of yours?”

José politely averts his gaze to the ceiling. “He has to go wash his car.”

McCann looks over his shoulder at José. “You know he was bullshittin’ you, right?”

José scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Of course I know.”

McCann sighs and steps into his boxers. They have cowboy boots and spurs printed all over them, and José is starting to seriously rethink inviting McCann over for beer and Xbox.

“You come up with somethin’ else we can do that ain’t playin’ video games and chuggin’ beer and I’ll think about it,” McCann says, giving José a pointed look before tugging a shirt on over his head. 

“Not like you got anything better to do,” José says, leaning close and nudging him in the side with his elbow.

“You think awfully highly of yourself,” McCann is grumbling, trying to sound gruff and disinterested, but the corner of his mouth curves up in a half-smile. 

José knows he’s got him on the end of his line now. “So, beer and Xbox then?”

McCann rolls his eyes at José again, dramatically, and sighs. “Fine. You win.”

After McCann’s finished dressing, they head out to the player’s lot for their cars with a small group of teammates. Aníbal and Miguel are bickering about something, hands flying animatedly in the air, while Víctor trails behind, playing referee. Alex and J.D. follow, studying something on Alex’s iPhone that’s apparently very funny.

McCann pulls his keys out of his pocket and shoulders the strap of his messenger bag. “My truck? Or yours?” He pauses, scowling at José for a moment. “Do you even have a car?”

“You think I walk here?” José laughs.

“I dunno, I guess I never thought about it before,” he says, swinging his keychain round and round on his finger.

José tips his chin up. “Oh, you never think about it so it doesn’t exist?” 

“That’s not what I meant. But whatever,” McCann says. “I’ll drive.”

“Maybe I don’t wanna drive with you now. Maybe I find someone else to take home,” José teases.

McCann’s eyes widen just a little bit at that. “Uh…”

José snags the keys out of McCann’s hand and dangles them in front of his face. “You coming or not?”

Maybe it’s the shadows or a trick of the light, but it almost looks like McCann’s blushing. José files this away for later. When McCann sighs and reaches for his keys, José holds them just out of his reach and cackles. 

“C’mon, what are you, three? Gimme my keys.” McCann grabs onto José’s wrist before José can duck his hands and tries to pry his fingers open.

José goes still, McCann’s hand still wrapped tightly around his wrist, and slides his eyes across his face. McCann’s cheeks are definitely red. He was right about him blushing. The thrill of victory rolls down his spine like electricity. Maybe it’s still the adrenaline he hasn’t burnt off since the win.

McCann should probably let go of him now. They’re just standing there in the parking structure where anybody could see them. Aníbal and Miguel and Alex and J.D. have gone off to their own vehicles, like the responsible adults they are. José and McCann are just standing under a blinking red exit sign, grappling over McCann’s keys like children.

José’s back hits the wall with a thump and all the air rushes out of his lungs. McCann’s fingers are still locked around his wrist, but the keys seem to have been forgotten for the moment. José opens his hand and lets the keys slip from his fingers and McCann doesn’t even seem to notice when they hit the concrete.

José struggles against McCann, pushing back with a hand against his chest. 

McCann grabs onto his wrist but doesn’t move his hand off his chest. He keeps pressing José into the wall. “You gonna give in yet?”

José remembers himself long enough to laugh. “Never.” 

José’s warm, practically boiling. He wonders if McCann can feel how hot he's burning now just from holding onto his wrists.

McCann ducks his head. His bristly hair scratches against José’s jaw. “Was this what you had in mind?”

“What you mean?” José asks, his tongue thick in his mouth. His voice doesn’t sound like it belongs to him. 

“Gettin’ under my skin.” James lets go of José’s wrists and braces his hands against the wall. “Like you do.”

“I like having fun,” José says. McCann shakes his head and moves away him, but José reaches out and grabs him by the arm, tugging him back. 

McCann stares at him, his blue eyes smoldering like dark sapphires. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” José tightens his grip on McCann’s arm. James’s arm. José tucks **McCann 34** away in a safe compartment in his mind. During games, he’s McCann. Now, he’s just James. 

James moves in real close, cups José’s chin in his hand. Slides his fingers down, lets them caress his throat. He rubs his thumb over José’s Adam’s apple, breath skittering across his stubbly cheek. José closes his eyes and sighs. 

José feels James’s breath on his cheek and he squirms a little, but James just presses him back into the wall. He’s bigger than José is. He could probably—

José’s bombarded by a hundred mental images of what, exactly, James could do to him but he manages to rein his imagination in before things get _really_ interesting. 

“What’d you do with my keys?” James drags a hand down José’s side, to his hip.

“Dunno,” José says, squirming some more. “Don’t have ’em anymore.”

James pushes a hand under José’s shirt. His palm is dry, callused as it runs down José’s ribs, pauses momentarily at his hip before sliding to his back.

José lets his mind wander again, go tripping back down that rabbit hole from earlier. James pushing him against the wall and tugging his pants open and just— 

James pushing him to his knees and gripping him by the jaw and forcing his mouth open—

James turning him around and bending him over and—

José lets out a noise that sounds caught halfway between a whine and a sigh. James’s hand stops wandering across José’s overheated skin.

“What’s on your mind,” James asks, pulling his hand out from under José’s T-shirt.

José sighs at the loss of contact. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

“Tell me.” James noses at the side of José’s neck.

“Is embarrassing,” Jose says, with a quiet little laugh. 

“Oh, _now_ you’re embarrassed?” James leans in closer, eyelashes fluttering as his eyes slip shut. His other hand is still braced against the wall and his body covers José’s comfortably. José finds that he likes James’s solid weight pressing him back against the brick wall.

José closes his eyes too and then James’s mouth is covering his. 

José grabs fistfuls of the back of James’s flannel shirt. He pushes his tongue into James’s mouth, and when he tries to press against him, James just shoves him back and keeps on kissing him. 

He thinks he hears the sound of laughter, maybe. Echoing footsteps clipping across concrete. José pushes at James's shoulder, tries to get his attention, but James just crowds him back against the wall and slips his hands to his hips.

They’re probably team employees, probably people they’ll have to face first thing tomorrow morning when they come in to the ballpark. José shoves at James’s shoulder a little harder this time. 

If they see them… José’s probably the one who’ll get it the worst. James is the golden boy. The future team captain, the future face of the franchise after Miguel and Verlander retire and ride off into the sunset. José will probably not be so fortunate. If they get caught—

James breaks the kiss, but he lingers with his lips still very near José’s. He’s breathing hard, his breath hot against José’s face, but so is José. James’s hands are still resting low on José’s hips.

Long shadows throw their shapes against a brick wall. José’s certain they’ll be caught. His heart jackhammers in his chest. James still hasn’t let him move away from the wall. James’s hands are still holding firmly onto him.

José tries to speak. “Someone might see—”

James grabs him by the front of his T-shirt and pulls him along, until they’re safely shadowed in a dark corner near the exit. José wonders for a moment what he’s got in mind until he reaches for the waistband of José’s jeans.

José bangs his head against the wall and grips James by the arm. “What are you doing.”

James grins at him. “Celebrating.” 

He stops just short of undoing José’s pants, though, and José is relieved. He doesn’t know if he would have stopped him on his own. Probably not. He probably would have let James tug open his pants and do whatever he wanted with—to—José.

José can’t exactly say he’s surprised by anything that’s happened tonight, though it’s all a little heady and dizzying. He’s thought of this—doing this, generally, and with James, specifically—many times before, he’s just never thought it would happen. And not like this.

James flicks his thumb at the button on José’s fly. “Would you let me?”

José’s not sure what he’s asking. “Yes.” 

James pops the button and plays with the zipper on José’s pants, but makes no move to tug it down. “Someone might see,” he says, parroting José’s warning back at him.

“Is late. Everyone went home,” José says.

James just smirks, pulls down José’s zipper, and slips his hand into his pants. 

There’s no finesse. He doesn’t know the angles or grips José uses to get himself off. It’s a little too rough, too clumsy, but James still gets him weak-kneed, shaking, clawing at his back and keening desperately.

James nips gently at José’s neck, then sucks the skin between his teeth. Something unravels deep within José as James soothes away the sting with the tip of his tongue. 

“You like that?” James murmurs into his neck, blowing gently against the damp, aching spot on José’s neck.

“Yes.” José tips his head back and closes his eyes.

James does it again, biting down and tugging at the skin gently. José jerks his hips against James’s hand and sighs rapturously.

He feels James laugh softly against his the skin of neck.

James bites down again—a little harder this time—and lets his hand slip off of José’s dick. José opens his mouth to protest, but ends up choking on it when James’s finger—slick with José’s own pre-come—teases at his hole.

“Fuck,” José mutters. “Didn’t expect this from you.”

“I’m full of surprises.” James nips at the thin skin under José’s jawline.

José clutches at his back. “Keep doing that, I’m gonna blow.”

James snorts into his neck. “That’s the plan.” He eases his finger in, almost carefully. 

“Please,” José begs.

James says nothing, just pushes a little deeper. He bites at José’s neck again and again. Sucks at the aching skin.

José comes without warning, starbursts behind his eyes, digging his fingers into the small of James’s back. 

James works him through it with a hand on his dick, then he pulls away and wipes the mess off on José’s pants.

José raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

James lifts a shoulder. “You can get ’em dry cleaned.”

“What about you?” José asks, glancing pointedly at the hard-on that tents the front of James’s blue jeans.

“I’m at your mercy,” he says, raising his hands, palms up.

José tugs his pants back up and zips them. Pretends to think. “You ever get road head before?”

“No,” James says, casting José a dubious look. “You’re not really…”

José bends down and retrieves the keys from the concrete. “Let’s go.”

James seems to turn this over in his head for a few minutes, as José tosses the keys from hand to hand, before shrugging. “Well, if you insist.”

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


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